Heya... Sorry I've been so long. I have no excuse, yet I still hope you'll forgive me.

This is the last chapter of Season 08, finally.


EPISODE 104 – Worth

It still takes a while.

Long after the twins have come back from the Hilltop, their mission fulfilled. Then, Daryl takes a step back once again, but it's easier, more relaxed, almost normal. Like we're finding a natural rhythm this time.

The twins predictably become sorts of mediators for the communities. After they took care of Gregory, they are called to the Sanctuary to help settle some disturbance. Then Ezekiel asks them to come to the Kingdom for a matter of theft that they quickly manage to resolve without violence. They are respected by the populations, feared by the culprits, deemed impartial by everyone. Rick laughs and calls them 'Marshals' but everyone else calls them 'The Saints'. And it feels right to them. Like they are walking on the righteous path our Lord has chosen for them. A path of truth and justice.

So, they come and go while I get more and more involved in Alexandria. But I still have other projects: I want to build a bridge; I want to clear the roads. I want all the settlements to communicate and work together toward a common goal. I want the communities united and wars to be long behind us by the time my children get to fighting age. The walkers will always be there. They'll learn to handle them well enough; I trust that. The senseless violence though? That can be avoided. I need to believe it can.

Daryl relaxes a little more each day. He spends time with Arley, carries him around in a modified backpack so he can see the world. We suspect his hearing won't completely recover from the fight at the Sanctuary. I remember a little ASL from Connie, but it was years ago. So, Daryl shows him everything. Carefully. He wants his eyesight keen, his focus sharp. And he takes his time to gently hone them to perfection. In another world, I would have told him to lay off the kid – he's only just a baby –, but in this day and age, to say I'm grateful would be an understatement.

Plus, I obviously love watching him with his son. I don't know how Daryl could have regained his ability to smile without Arley. Hell, I hadn't seen a smile that big and persistent on the hunter's face since I've known him – and probably since he was a wee bairn himself, I suspect. It's beautiful. It's what life is made for.

After a long time of peace and quiet, Daryl hints that he would love to go away for a few days. Hunt, reconnect with the forest, and tour a little further away to make sure we're not fooling ourselves into thinking we're safe.

"Okay, but only if ye let me cut yer hair first," I reply. "I don't want a walker to sneak up on ye just because ye've got those bangs in yer eyes…"

"I ain't got bangs!" he protests like bangs are only for the lassies.

"C'mere, don't make me tie ye to the chair."

He makes a show of sighing and grumbling like a four-year-old before finally relenting. However, as soon as I start running my finger through the strands on his nape, I hear his jaw click shut.

We fall into a silence filled with a new kind of tension. I don't understand how this could feel more intimate than sleeping into each other's arms. Maybe not more intimate. Maybe less intimate and more sensual. I scrape his scalp lightly and he groans. His eyes are closed. And when I softly blow some cut hair away from the crook of his neck, I distinctly feel him shiver.

Fuck, his sole reaction is enough to get to me as well. And I can't help letting my fingers linger just a little bit too long on his skin. I hear him take a huge shuddering breath and notice how his own hands are white-knuckling his pants on either side of his thighs.

"Ye can relax, ye know," I traitorously whisper just above his ear.

"Are ya done?"

The tone is sharp and makes me recoil. I suddenly question if we're truly on the same page anymore. Maybe I'm crossing a line. Maybe he won't ever want to be with me like we used to. Who am I kidding? The only reason he's still here is for Arley. Daryl deserves so much more than what I'm able to give him.

"Almost." I finish with a few snips so that his haircut resembles the one he used to have when we were back at the prison. He does have more scars, his face is marked by all we've been through, yet I can't help seeing the younger man he used to be behind all the hurt. It's Arley that brings it out of him. I'm glad he does. Still, I guess I can't help feeling a little sad that I can't be the one to make him happy.

I swiftly shake my head to chase away this selfish thought. "All done."

He clears his throat before promptly standing up. "Alright… See ya in a few days then."

Arley gets a kiss goodbye.

Jesus, each time I think I'm making a little progress, I seem to be thrown back to square one. Evidently, I should be giving up. Believing that I could have it all is obviously unrealistic. Why can't I be content with everything I already have?

Only two days pass and the twins are called on another case in Oceanside. Some of the girls still seem to think they never truly got their revenge on the Saviors. Can't really blame them. No idea how my Saints are going to manage this one, seeing they both still have a bit of an axe to grind themselves. Yet, I know they'll try their damnedest to remain unbiased.

After I put Arley to sleep, I leave him with Sive and Tara, so I can tour Alexandria one more time. I still get a little restless when none of my boys are here. And I only get back to the house after the sun has set and night has claimed the whole town, when I'm certain there is no immediate threat.

As I walk toward it, I'm surprised to find Daryl's motorcycle parked next to the basement's entrance, where he usually lives. And a beaming smile creeps up on my face, beyond my control. The porch is dark, the house silent, but just knowing he's back, right there in the house, probably checking up on our son or already cooped up in his underground room, recovering from his hunt, is making my heart swell up with unconditional love. I breathe better. No matter what he thinks of me now, what our weird, unclear relationship means to him, I know it means the world to me.

Lost in my thoughts, I let my hand tenderly graze the seat of the bike, still warm from his ride, as if I could feel the wind in his hair, the thrill of the rumbling motor under him, the freedom that comes with it, as my own. It makes me close my eyes, grin still wide, and appreciate the peace that comes with it.

That, until I hear a step creaking under the night-clad porch. All my senses are sent into high alert for less than a second, until I see Daryl flicking away his cigarette and slowly coming down the stairs to meet me.

It's like my body lights up at the sight of him. And I open my mouth to try and greet him in a proper way, instead of blushing like a wee eejit. But the intense look in his eyes stop me. I realise he must have been watching me just now, hidden in the dark, smoking outside. There is a small smile on his face as he marches toward me. Renewed assurance. Because there was no mistaking my gesture, my caressing fingers still trembling on the seat of his bike. The adoration.

So, without missing a beat, as soon as he reaches me, he cradles my cheek and leans in for a kiss. And it says all the words that are missing between us. It's so wonderful and intoxicating to rediscover his taste, to be reacquainted with this rough tenderness that makes him unique, to feel him claim what he wants with confidence for once, and to be able to melt inside his bold embrace.

I feel the seat of the motorcycle behind my thighs as the force of the kiss makes me stumble backwards. But he doesn't let me go far, presses me against it with fervor. I can feel the heat of his whole body rise and let myself be engulfed in his desire with bliss. After all this restraint, guardedness, all these months – maybe a whole year – since we were able to hold each other, it feels like the elastic band finally snapped and we're swung into each other's arms. There, nestled against his chest, with his tongue fondling mine like it's quenching a feverish thirst, I feel the last reticence of my whole being unknot.

"Shit!" I lose balance. The bike behind me tips over and crashes on the pavement with a loud clang. "Jesus! I'm sorry!" I exclaim. I know how much he cares for that thing.

I was expecting at least some sort of bad reaction, although, Daryl only cups my jaw so he can kiss me again, barely sparing a glance for the hog on the ground.

"Later," is all he mutters against my lips, already directing me toward the basement's stairs.

Neither his tone nor his hands are leaving any room for doubt. I've had slight glimpses of a takes-charge Daryl in the past, but this is a whole new level. It's dominating. And I'm all in for it.

Half my clothes are already littering the steps down to his bedroom's door. One hand in my hair is making sure I give him complete access to nipping at my neck while the other is frantically searching for the handle. My body is flushed against the creaking panel as he's crushing me against it.

"Christ, I missed ye…" I wheeze out while his thigh parts my legs.

"Yeah, I saw that," he mutters against my skin, then steps away for one second, just so he can push me inside the room and onto his bed.

I laugh at his sassy tone before grabbing his leather vest and pulling him down with me, crashing our lips together once again.

But he won't let me take back control. Before I know it, my hands are pinned above my head and I'm utterly subdued by the tongue lashing at my nipple through the fabric of my bra.

Suddenly, he takes his time, button after button, each centimeter of my skin surrenders to his unrelenting lips. My whole body is both properly taken over and revered. No hesitance, no shyness left, in this moment, he takes me like I'm his and his alone to possess and worship.

And even if there existed an infinitesimal part of me that wanted to, I'd be utterly incapable of resisting it. Not when his callous fingers trace burning patterns on my ribs. Not when his demanding tongue lap at my flesh like it's the most delicious hors d'oeuvre. At times, he bites and claws like he's afraid I'm going to disappear, then the next moment, he's nuzzling my hip like a purring cat, searching for comfort.

When my hands come to card through his hair, or clasp his muscles with writhing want, he consistently grabs my wrists and pins them back to the bed.

"Let me…" It's a pleading order he gives me. And I don't know if he needs to remain in control, if he's yet unable to receive and only wants to give, if it's payback for all the times I took the initiative and he only let me. But whatever he needs, whatever he wants I'll let him have. If anyone deserves to get what they desire, it's Daryl. I'm so full of love and gratitude for his mere existence that there is nothing I would refuse. Especially if what he wants feels so, so fucking good.

He makes me come first with his tongue alone. Then he's inside me, huge and hard and slick with my own juices. Firm and powerful above me. I'm a lusty mess, and he watches me come apart under him with fascinated darkened eyes. Though, as soon as I feel him stiffen, as his pace loses rhythm, he pulls out. But not to finish, no, the next second, his head is back between my legs as he's lashing out on my wrecked twat.

I have to press a pillow on my face not to scream out and alert the whole fucking village. Though he yanks it away at once. I buck and jolt so hard under his wonderful attacks that I end up spinning around on my stomach, though that's still not enough to escape the merciless pleasure. His tongue and fingers aren't leaving me any rest. Soon, two fingers are scissoring in my cunt while his tongue is punching my arsehole and I'm coming so hard I'm sobbing in the sheets.

I barely get to come down from it that he's already slipping back in from behind me. Laying on my back, molding himself on me, he trails small soothing kisses up my spine and I'm both overheating and shivering.

"Christ, Daryl…" My voice is so hoarse and weak I don't recognize it. I'm so far gone.

"M' right here…" His own husky growl is making me whimper with want. My body responds on his own, thrusting back on his cock so I can keep feeling him.

I can't believe his control. He's pacing himself. Making me come, again and again, stopping each time himself gets too close to relief, just so he can push me over the edge once again then come back to his own pleasure. That makes it last for what seems like hours, or years, I couldn't tell. It feels like he's making up for all the times we couldn't be together.

And this one night suffices to heal every single wound that was left between us.

I'm washed up, exhausted, yet I can't imagine ever stopping.

When he finally lets me wrap him in my arms, as he's still thrusting inside me, now lying on my back with him above me, when his face buries itself in the crook of my neck with irrepressible moans coming out of his throat, I know it's time.

I lock my shaky ankles in the small of his back to make sure he's not going anywhere. I grasp a handful of his hair in the back of his head, I murmur sweet nothings in his ear to tell him that it's okay to let go now, that I want him to. I gradually pick up the pace of our steady grind. And he slowly lets me take back the reins so I can bring him to completion in turn.

When he tips over, he's biting my shoulder hard and tows me with him one more time. Just because he feels so marvelous inside me. Just because I can't resist the sensation of him surrendering to ecstasy. Just because his heat, his passion and devotion, is so tangible it makes me dizzy. Just because he's been tearing me apart so thoroughly my body is still on fire for him. And that last culmination is putting me back together like a healing balm.

He collapses on me and I keep him here. Like a weighed blanket, I can breathe just fine and I still need him to keep me grounded or I'm pretty sure I would be floating up toward the sky. My hand strokes his back to tell him everything is okay now without words.

We're okay. Everything is okay.

"We need to get back to our son… I don't think Tara signed up for a whole night, luv."

"Mmhm…"

We spend the morning lazily lying together on my bed, with Arley sprawled between us, trying to avoid his joyful kicking and wriggling, laughing mirthfully at the kid's adventurous attempts to crawl away to the edge. Though he's so iron-willed that he might manage before we expect it.

"Hey, Daryl…"

"Hmm."

"Ye told me once that ye didn't want a girlfriend."

I'm met with silence, his eyes trained on the rolling baby. He catches him and makes him roll back to the center among his excited giggles.

"But, then, ye also didn't want a kid. So…"

"So what?"

"So, have ye changed yer mind is what I'm trying to ask. Because...as much as I'd want to, I still can't offer ye…" I trail, failing to find the right words.

"Offer me what?" Of course, that pig-headed ass isn't going to make it easy.

"Everything? My, hem, undivided attention?"

He snorts dismissively at my poor choice of phrase. Then he just shrugs:

"Why d'ya ask? We're good." He tries to say it like the conversation is over.

Yet, I can be relentless when I decide: "If ye wanted to, I don't know, meet someone else, I guess I'd understand."

At that he finally raises his head to glower at me like I can't be fucking serious.

"I mean, I'd have no choice but to make my peace with it."

Arley interrupts us by climbing right over his father's head, and I can't help chuckling at the adorable sight. Except that gives him an excuse not to reply anything at all.

Although I now feel like I've made him think I want him to find someone else. I definitely don't. I just needed him to know I won't ask of him what he can't ask of me. So I end up stressing:

"Ye know I love ye, right?"

His lopsided little grin is both endearing and infuriating. "Yeah, I think ya've said that before."

I throw a pillow at his face, now that he's put our son back on the mattress.

"And?" I push, because I've said a lot and that arsehole has said nothing.

He still doesn't answer for a while, but I make sure he knows I'm sulking like a little tyke.

"Fuck, ya gonna make me say it, Red?" There's some annoyance but mostly distress in his gruff voice, and I burst out laughing:

"Christ, I'd love to be able to do that!"

We play with our kid a little more in silence, until I hear a throaty whisper: "Cuz, come on, ya know I do…"

I freeze for a moment. Struck by a wonderful lightning.

Then, my mischievous side takes over once again to say: "Will ye say it, though?"

"What?"

"C'mere, Daryl, those three little harmless words…"

"Like: shut ya mouth?"

He gets another pillow across the head for that.

"Ye love me, arsehole."

"Shut up, Red."

"Aye, okay, I'll shut up now."

End of Season 08


Here, I hope this made you a little happy.

Now, I'm going to mark this story as complete, because this is a good place to stop, and I don't know if I'll write more for these characters.

To be perfectly honest, I do have a rough outline of what I wanted to do for a ninth season (a much shorter whisperers arc than in the show).
Of course, if I included Connie in the first season, it was my plan to bring her back (and, (
spoiler:) why not concoct a little threesome with Daryl?).
But I don't know if those characters still have much room to grow, and I don't want it to feel forced. Also (
spoiler:), I wanted Aideen to not be the damsel in distress for once and be the one actually doing the rescuing. I thought that was needed. But I don't know if I'll be able to get the creative gears working...

The thing is, I haven't watched the last season of the Walking Dead yet! Maybe knowing how the story truly ends will help me steer this fanfic in the right direction?

Reviews do help, even the smallest ones, but also if you have ideas, suggestions, etc. And they do make me happier than I'll ever admit!

I can't make any promises. But hit the follow button if you ever want to get notified of a ninth and maybe tenth season.

Okay, I'll shut up now ;)